Forgiven
by Petals Open to the Moon
Summary: For two long centuries, Marcus has mourned the love and joy of his life, the angelic Didyme. But is he the only one to have suffered? Is there such thing as second chances? ... Inspired by the Within Temptation song.
1. What was the purpose of believing?

"**What was the purpose of believing?" **

_Her arms melted around him, drawing him closer in a soft embrace. He laughed, the first time in forever, and caught her hand in his. Light dancing upon fluorescent light, despite the ever-present shimmer of their skin. Light. It was in her hair, her eyes, her mouth. It was in her voice, rolling out the honeyed syllables when she said his name… _

"_Marcus." _

Aro started, jolting from his reverie. The room was pitch black, darkened by his own request, but he felt a violent longing for light—any light. He left the throne, snatching the nearest torch. Flame leapt to life under his fingertips. He studied the soft glow, using its heat to steady the cold, dead thud of his heart.

"_Marcus…" _

"_Arrestilo!" _he snarled at the vision. It wavered, and he flung the torch from him, laughing as it extinguished against stone. Then a change came over him, and his face winced in grief. He bent, lifting the torch, and watched as the black embers crumbled in his hands. "You can't do this," he whispered. "You can't haunt me forever."

The door opened softly. The torch was replaced, and he moved to his throne, composure once more settling his face. A shadow drew nearer. It made tiny steps, like a child, hiding its face in a low, gray hood. Its stealthy movements would have unnerved anyone. Not Aro.

"Renata," he sighed, gesturing the shadow forward.

The hood fell, and a girl walked up the steps. She was young, but only by human count. Her physical body was frozen, like her master's. She took his extended hand, pressing it gently against her cheek.

"Master," she whispered.

"Why so silent, little one?" he asked.

"I am unhappy, my lord."

"Unhappy? Why?"

She didn't answer, but pressed her round cheek again to his hand. A wave of comprehension lit his face. "Ah," he said softly. "You are unhappy because of _me." _He stroked her dark hair. "You needn't be, child. My sorrow is not your own."

"Not you," she insisted. "Never you, my lord. I shall bear your grief _for _you."

He leaned back, sighing. "If only it were so simple."

Renata crept closer, devotion shining in her eyes. "Let me bear it for you."

"No, Renata."

"_Please, _Master…"

Aro withdrew his hand, shielding his eyes wearily. "Bear it for me? Don't be absurd. You will do no such thing. You _cannot, _any more than you can change back time, or withdraw the fatal wounds from a dying man. No…" He rose, looking past her. "It is mine, and mine alone."

The small vampire whimpered, burying her face in his cloak. A smile caught his lips. Her devotion was touching. He bent, brushing her forehead with a kiss, then sent her from him, leaving the room by another door. His footsteps were quick as he walked down the hallway. He did not wish to encounter anyone.

The Volturi's home was surprisingly quiet this evening; not that frivolity was encouraged among the coven, but there was at least the occasional whisper as its members conversed amongst themselves. There were no whispers now. Only the sound of his shoes, clicking on stone. They were very fine—as all the ancients' clothing were—and tailor-made to fit him. His clothes, some of pure silk, moved easily with his body. He wore pure black, from his shoes to his necktie, without a spot of color to mar his forbidding appearance. Only his eyes sparkled, relishing their power over others. His crest was gone, the heavy gold laid away carefully by his guard. It was a tiresome thing, anyway, worn only for the necessity of a counsel.

Modern clothes were just as tiresome. Although the Volturi embraced _some _aspects of modern culture, the ancients were adamant in maintaining their elegance. Now and then, a contemporary suit or two found its way into their wardrobes, but it never lacked a touch of "old Europe." Watch chains, reminiscent of 19th London, dangled from carefully sewn waistcoats, and a red carnation frequently graced a black lapel. Aro despised the laid-back look of modernity. The clothes were tight, fitting closely to the body, with scarcely anything to offset the shoddiness of one's appearance. They were torn and frayed to the point of ruin, and offensive designs covered the material, ruining any value it previously had. No… the old ways were better. _There _was style. _There _was elegance. When perfect clothing meant perfect manners, no matter how depraved you were underneath. It was a beautiful, wicked masquerade.

Caius, one of Aro's brothers, loved fashion just as well as Aro did. For the past eight hundred years, they had been used to the finer things, and they were spared nothing in their desires. The Volturi were, in a sense, rulers of their vampiric world—why not look the part? The servants could dress as they wish (in the best of taste, of course). Most of them were younger; for them, the past _was _the modern century. The ancients didn't care, so long as they lived in their own sheltered world, free to rule and live as they pleased.  
Unless, of course, living was more of an agony… Torment, which had so worried Renata, had returned to haunt Aro's features. He stopped, tapping lightly at a door.

"Come in," rasped a voice.

Aro sighed. His brother seemed to have a perpetual bad cough. Not that vampires ever _were _sick… He opened the door, closing it gently behind him. As always, he paused a moment, waiting for the pain to pass. This room, above all others, was the hardest to enter. It _reeked _of memories. They poured from the walls, from the bed, the rugs. They crept up through the floor, tugging at his legs, until he felt stifled under the pressure. Yes, it was the hardest place to enter… which was why he always did. It was the easiest way to punish himself.

"Marcus?" he whispered, wrenching away from them. "Marcus, are you there?"

"Yes," said the voice. It was accompanied by a shadow, tall and frightening in shape. A skeleton emerged, draping its robes carefully over a chair. "What is it?"

The memories were soft, reproachful. Aro felt a wave of sympathy overcome him. _And we say immortals never age, _he thought. "May I speak with you, brother?" he asked gently.

"You may."

Aro came closer, pulling a chair near his brother. Marcus watched him, the eyes once filled with life now dark and withdrawn. He was used to this by now, these bursts of sympathy. He rarely saw his brother except on matters of importance, but every few months, in his moments of quiet, Aro would come to him, strangely subdued. He knew something tormented him. The pain was there, in his eyes. But how to help him? Marcus was at a loss, but his natural compassion made him a good listener.

"Again, my friend?" he whispered. "We spoke only last week."

"I know," said Aro quickly. "I'm not intruding on your privacy?"

"You know I am only too happy to help you."

Aro smiled. He reached out, taking his brother's hand. "Humor me," he whispered.

Marcus smiled in return, then closed his eyes. The seconds ticked by, and Aro's fingers tightened and relaxed periodically. His eyes were open, taking in Marcus' serene face, as the memories flooded through their bodies. At last, he could take no more.

"Thank you," he said, pulling away. His voice sounded strangled.

Marcus watched him; still serene, still patient. "I don't know why you insist on this," he said. "You have enough on your hands, Aro, without taking on my burden."

Aro's teeth snapped together. "It isn't yours, Marcus. It is _both _of ours. Haven't you seen enough of hell all these years? Can I not _share _it with you?"

"There is no need."

"_Please,_ Marcus!"

Marcus bowed his head, and Aro stopped, frozen. Hadn't he just heard those words? But no, they were not from _his _lips…

"_You needn't be, child. My sorrow is not your own." _

"_Never you, my lord. I shall bear your grief for you." _

"_If only it were so simple." _

"_Let me bear it for you!" _

"_Bear it for me? Don't be absurd. You will do no such thing. You cannot, any more than you can change back time… No, it is mine and mine alone." _

Aro sank back in his chair, feeling the weight of hypocrisy overcome him. "It is mine and mine alone," he whispered aloud.

Marcus was watching him again. "You see?" he said. He shifted, moving one thin leg over the other. "Why do you torment yourself?" he asked. "Surely one moping Volturi is one too many?"

"You seem… at peace," Aro said slowly. "Yet you still suffer. Why is that? How do you—" He trailed off, clutching his hair in frustration.

Marcus examined his crest, his face thoughtful. "Perhaps… perhaps she meant more to one of us."

Aro looked up. "What are you saying?"

"Don't misunderstand me," his brother said kindly. "I am not demeaning your love for Didyme, nor her attachment to you. But you _were _preoccupied then, Aro, whether you choose to deny it or not. She lost your interest, and…" Marcus took a breath. "…and I was only too willing to give it back to her."

Aro rose from his chair. "I did not come here to be judged," he said angrily. Yet he knew what Marcus said was true. Even if he didn't know the particulars—even if Marcus was oblivious as to the murderer—he was still remarkably perceptive about their relationship. He always had been. It was his gift.

"Forgive me," he said. "That was unfair."

"No harm done," his brother said calmly.

"What can I do, Marcus? How can I forget her?"

A ghost of a smile crossed his brother's lips. "Forget?" he whispered. "My dear brother, if you _truly _wished to forget Didyme, you would have done so long ago. As it is, you can only live. Do as you have always done. You have perseverance, Aro. I cannot say that of myself."

Aro looked away briefly. This was not the answer he had expected, nor wanted. "I will see you tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes."

"_Buona notte, _then."

Marcus nodded. He was already drifting, fading back into his thoughts.

Aro closed the door, clenching one fisted hand over the wood. He knew Marcus was listening, aware of his presence. He had to leave, or his brother would come out, inviting him back in with maddening compassion. So he tore away, fleeing down the hall like a man possessed by demons. They could keep their compassion, their warmth. He would have none of it. He relied on power and strength; on the brute force of cruelty. Love was all very well, but it had gained him nothing. He had had his chances with it—oh, yes, he remembered all too well. But what had he done? Crushed it. Destroyed it. Murdered one, and by doing so, forever injured the other.

_No, _he thought, savagely tearing open a door. _It is not for me. Not _this _soul. _He did not say this aloud. Every vampire in the coven knew his views on the soul. You either had one or you didn't. It was doubtful for humans… and for an immortal? Nonexistent. A little ridiculous, even. Aro had lived for too many millennia to not believe in hell, but he was too clever to disregard the soul. Oh, yes. He believed. But he told no one. What was the use; what was the purpose of believing, when his own was black as darkness, hanging in tatters about his frozen heart?

A woman sat at the end of the hallway, oblivious to him. She was a Volturi, but her cloak was thrown back, tossed carelessly over the back of her chair. She was filing her nails, a look of utter boredom on her face.

He walked faster. "Heidi!" he snapped.

She started, then rose quickly to her feet. Her long legs bent in an awkward curtsy. "Master."

"Open it," he ordered, gesturing to the door behind her. She nodded. A ring of keys was snatched from her pocket, and she flung it open, stepping back to admit her master.

Aro entered the room, the rage still roiling about in his body. His eyes scanned the frightened occupants, each one chained at various degrees. Dirty dishes lay beside them. The Volturi had their lusts, just the same as any vampire, but the ancients got the benefits. While the other members waited for the general feeding weekly, a few spare victims were reserved for special occasions— and for the ancients only.

"That one," Aro said, pointing. "Release him."

Heidi unlocked one of the manacles, releasing a strong man. He appeared to be in his thirties, but it was difficult to tell. Like the rest, he had aged since entering the cell.

"Here you are," Heidi said curtly. Her bottom lip pushed out. It was obvious she had some sort of attraction for the young man.

Aro laughed at her, dragging him by his neck. "Clean up that mess," he said, pointing to the dishes. He slammed the door in her face. The torches blazed past him as he glided down the passage. They gave a hellish light to his dark eyes.

"Please," rasped a voice at his elbow. "I'll do anything—"

"Oh, shut up. I don't have time for this."

The man struggled, prying at the vampire's cold fingers. "Bastard!" he spat.

Aro ignored him, turning the corner abruptly. A single torch lit the gloomy hallway. He pushed the man up against the wall, pulling the hair back from his neck.

"Have some compassion!" the doomed man pleaded.

"Compassion?" Aro hissed. His eyes widened for an instant, then blazed with unusual ferocity. _"Compassion?!" _He angled his body against the man's, almost like a lover. His hands crept up the shoulders, steadying the trembling body, and he sank his teeth into the neck. The man jolted. His eyes rolled back, and a stifled scream escaped his lips. As the vampire drank, he grew quieter. The seconds passed, and he fell from Aro's grip, a lifeless corpse.

Blood ran down Aro's chin, staining his vest. He usually fed with caution, but today he was reckless. To hell with it, and the whole godforsaken world.

"_You_ had a soul," he groaned aloud.

_Take mine, Didyme. Take me for what I am… _

Impossible! He turned on his heel, leaving the torchlight and the emptiness and the perpetual shadows behind. He went back to his room, where some semblance of peace remained.

But she was waiting for him.

* * *

***thoughtful, tapping chin* Hm. What do you think? Shall I continue? **


	2. Ea a revenit

"'**Ea a revenit.'" **

Aro lingered on his throne, his head tilted back against the wood. It was not a comfortable position, but only a human would have felt the quirks and pains of sitting so long in one spot. The chair was carved elegantly, verging on Gothic, but not enough to deter one's eye. His brother's thrones rested nearby—empty, of course. It was not their custom to meet so late at night, nor was there any special need to. The stone pillars rose—high and arced—up to the vaulted ceiling. They were homely in design, at least compared to the artistic beauty of the thrones, but they suited a purpose much darker than merely supporting the room's gloomy walls. During the feeding hours, humans frequently ran up the steps, either to plead mercy or make some attempt at escape. For any member not in a playful mood, it was easy to grab one's victim by the neck, bashing them against the pillars before lifting their limp bodies to taste.

Aro looked down, his eyes now focusing on the steps themselves. They led to a rather large grate, fastened over with rusty metal. The sight of that grate had brought more than one human to their knees, particularly once they saw its true use. Aro could almost see the lines now, tracing sweet and intricate into the fine cracks of stone, disappearing through the metal. He took a breath, sucking the venom from his lips. He did not wish to feed, no matter what his body told him. There was too much pain.

_Ah, _he thought. _Pain._ So unknown to him, after all these years. He had seen it often enough. Had inflicted it a thousand times over. But to _suffer _pain…?

"Pathetic," his brother Caius would say. He could see him now, a sneer on his red lips. "I thought Marcus was bad enough, but _this _is revolting. Where is your spine?"

_Where, indeed? _Aro spread his fingers, examining the bony digits with sudden interest. He was disintegrating. They all were. How long had he sat here, thinking, brooding, _wasting… _He felt incarcerated in his own power; the power that had rendered him and his brothers practically gods.

_This cannot be all, _he agonized silently. _This cannot be everything. _In a fit of frustration, he slashed his mouth across his hand. Warm liquid dripped from the wound. He let if fall, relishing how real it was. It was not his blood, but it was _there. _Tangible, unlike the false, authoritative shell they had built around themselves. _You're fading away, _he thought, watching the liquid drip. _You're fading with her, and you don't even realize it. _

The door opened, shattering his solitude. A woman's heels clicked across the floor. Aro sighed. The only thing more ridiculous and extravagant than Heidi's clothes were those five-inch heels she laced herself into.

She walked towards him now, stopping on the top step. "My lord?" she said. Her eyes widened, taking in the crimson drops that flowed through his fingers. He brushed it against his mouth, settling into a more composed state. "What is it, Heidi?"

She paused, appearing to gather her thoughts. "There is a message for you."

"Isn't Gianna responsible for that?"

Heidi hesitated. "It is not…that kind of message."

Aro lifted his head. "Yes?"

"It was delivered by one of us, outside the tower. He wanted to see Santiago, but he was in a great hurry, and I was the only one there. I was bringing in the tourists, you see, and—"

"Yes, yes," her master said impatiently. "So he gave you the message?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Well?"

Heidi's eyes flickered to the doors, closed securely, then returned to her master's face. "It was from a friend of yours, Geric, in Romania. The messenger—I don't know his name—said you were to know at once." She took a deep breath. _"Ea a revenit." _

Aro never moved, but his eyes remained fixed on Heidi's face. "What?" he said in a whisper.

"That's all he said. _'Ea a revenit.'_" She sighed. "I _knew _I wasn't pronouncing it right—"

Aro lifted his hand, silencing her. The movement was surreal, coming from a being that seemed to have turned to stone. It hung there, white and unmoving, until he let if fall, curling convulsively on the armrest. "Is that all?" he said tightly.

Heidi shuddered, mistaking his emotion for rage. "Y-yes, my lord. He only wished you to have this, and the message."

She lifted a small, sealed packet in her fingers. He didn't move. She stepped forward, placing it gently on his robed lap. "May I go now?" she asked tentatively.

Aro closed his eyes, a gesture of assent, and she retreated swiftly from the room. The doors closed, and his eyes opened again, fastening themselves on the packet. He lifted it carefully, hardly daring to breathe. It was sealed simply, with a mere drop of wax. Yet it bore all the resemblance to Geric's signature, however scarce his letters were. Aro took a breath, slicing it open in one stroke.

A shower of petals fell to the floor, some clinging to his robes. They were frayed in the dim light, torn days earlier from their mother plant. A powerful scent came with them; sweet, yet overwhelming. It was astonishing such a scent could come from such delicate petals… and yet, there they were, freed from the crammed space.

When the petals fell, the effect on the vampire was immediate. He sprang from his throne, shaking his robes as if they were poison. His chest rose and fell, heaving under some terrible strain. He uttered one word, a quiet curse, then crossed the room, pressing his forehead to a marble pillar.

"It can't be," he breathed. "It's impossible."

He knelt to the floor, gathering one of the flowers in his hands. They were lilies-of-the-valley. Sweet, exquisite, and incredibly fragile. Snowbells on twig-like stems. His sister's favorite flower…

"Renata?" he called softly. A second later, she was at his side. Her little fingers brushed the hair from his face, and she stared up at him with alarm.

"Master, Master…" she whispered. Her fingers touched his lips; soft, searching.

He pushed her away. "Enough. I want you to go to Gianna. Tell her to contact Geric Ienescu, and inform him I will be visiting tomorrow."

"Geric?" she said falteringly. "In Romania?" She wrung her hands, sighing. "So soon?"

"Yes."

"May I come with you, my lord?"

"No, Renata. I must go alone."

The little vampire's face crumpled. A soft moan escaped her lips. Aro gathered her into his arms, kissing her childish, black curls. "Be at peace, little one," he soothed. "I shan't be long."

Her red eyes blurred. "You are not well, my lord, and yet you won't let me help you."

He kissed her nose. "You can look after Marcus for me. His pain is far greater. Will you do that for me, my love?"

"Of course," she sighed.

"Good." He pointed to the floor, where the lily petals were still scattered. "Tell Heidi to come back in here and clean this up." He took a breath, as if the scent was repulsive. "The sooner the better."

* * *

Geric Ienescu was not a simple immortal, but only as far as age went. He was a gentle man. Quiet, but serious. A mere newborn when the Volturi usurped his native country, he had grown to wisdom under their influence, openly worshiping the elusive leaders. When he was cast from his coven, labeled as a traitor, Aro took him in, treating Geric like a brother. Geric soon grew accustomed to Aro's kindred… including his ethereally beautiful sister, Didyme.

The young Romanian had no real talent, however, and Aro could not relate to his desire for peace and solitude. They parted ways over the centuries, each pursuing their own lifestyles. Their paths crossed again in the early 1500's, during the bloody series of wars to control the Italian peninsula. Geric's mate, Selena, was trapped attempting to leave Venice, imprisoned in the sewers during the fighting. For months, Geric could not enter the city. In desperation, he sent his friend a message. Aro came to their aid, using his influence to free the starving woman. They communicated more often in the decades to follow, meeting when occasion permitted. It was Geric who taught Aro his native Romanian. They also studied German together, along with Latin, Greek, and Arabic.

Although Selena was later killed in a coven rebellion, Geric could never thank his friend enough for helping before. They remained close until half a century later, when Geric was informed that Aro's sister had been murdered. Distraught, he tried to contact his friend, but by then the Volturi had secluded themselves entirely. Aro did not respond to his messages, and Geric was left to his own devices to imagine what had happened. When word spread of Marcus' apathetic state, all his fears were confirmed. Aro had destroyed his sister, whether influenced by Caius or by his own mind. Geric knew Marcus' importance in the coven. He also knew Aro's frustration with Didyme's surreal gift.

"Why happiness?" he would hear Aro rant. "Give me an immortal who can instill fear in others, or cause them to turn against each other… but _this? _What use have I for _this?" _

Didyme would only smile. Perhaps she was hurt by this, perhaps not. She never showed it. Her lips would curl up, and she would wink at Geric as if she'd heard it all before. Geric felt sick at heart, remembering. He knew Aro was capable—oh, more than capable—of murder, and he had seen him do some terrible things. But could he condemn Aro? Was it his right? He let the matter rest, knowing he could do nothing. It was some time before he attempted to contact his friend again. Aro responded this time, but pointedly avoided any subject that might lead to Didyme's mysterious death.

Now they were to meet again, for the first time in four hundred years.

Geric lived in Brasov, a few miles from the harshly beautiful Carpathian Mountains. Unlike the splendorous living of the Volturi, he preferred to live simply, moving about every few centuries as it suited him. His chateau resembled a monastery, located just outside of the town. Young men and women from the town kept house for him (money was quite beneficial in disregarding fear), and he found plenty of sustenance in larger cities nearby. Two other vampires lived with him, Luc and Sonja. They had been with Geric since his mate's death; protectors as well as a comfort. For any vampire accustomed to the Volturi, this seemed a feeble guard, indeed. But it suited the Romanian well.

When Aro arrived at the modest, creamy-tiled chateau, the shadows on the land were already falling. Sonja opened the door for him. Her sharp eyes averted quickly, respect overriding fear as she stood back.

"Sonja!" he said sweetly. "You're looking lovelier than ever. May I enter?"

"You are _more_ than welcome, my lord," she whispered. Her voice was like Aro's; breathy, but it scraped up her throat, roughening the consonants unintentionally.

Aro moved past her. As she closed the door, he turned his head abruptly, gesturing with his hand. Two shadows approached in the darkness, one large, the other slender, and stood on either side of the house. Sonja, with a vampire's instinct, lifted her head. "Are your guard in need of refreshment, my lord?" she asked. "They are just as welcome."

Aro chuckled. "No, no, my love. Leave them be." His dark eyes flickered over the simple furnishings. "Your master is here?"

She nodded, opening a small door to the left. A set of stairs was revealed. He walked ahead of her, gliding up the polished steps. They reached a dark hallway, lit by a single bulb at either end, and lined with five separate rooms. Aro's cloak rustled on the floor, which, unlike the cool stone below, was made of wood. Like everything else, it was simply-made. Sonja gestured him to a closed door, leaving with a last, obsequious glance.

Aro tilted his head, hearing a soft voice within. He smiled. Either his friend had some late evening guests, or he was once again poring over books. Geric was insatiable when it came to fresh knowledge, devouring volumes at a speed that would make any scholar gape. Aro loved learning on a similar level, but there _was _a limit, was there not? Particularly when there were so many other deliciously dark things to pursue…

He pushed open the door. The room was large, with a blazing fire radiating in the center. Sure enough, half the space was contained in towering bookshelves. Volumes spilled onto wood tables, scattering across the table. They were free of dust, however, and bound with master craftsmanship. The other half of the chamber was bare by comparison. A tall chair was in front of the fire, partially blocking a large window covered in black drapery.

Aro stepped into the room just as a tall man walked from the bookshelves. He glanced up, startled, upon sensing another presence. His hair was black like Sonja's, but his features were more slender, pointed. He bowed, then disappeared into another line of shelves, calling his master.

"Aro!"

Aro smiled at the vampire coming towards him. _"Buna ziua, _Geric."

His friend grasped his shoulders gently, placing a soft kiss on Aro's cheek. _"Prietenul meu," _he said, his pale face exhilarated. "You remember your Romanian, I see."

"Well enough."

Geric turned, nodding his head gently. "That will be all, Luc. Do not enter until I call you." The door closed, and he turned back to Aro. "Come, come," he urged, leading him closer to the fire. "You must be weary from your journey."

Aro smiled. "Geric, you are unerringly hospitable. I am not weary and you know it." He gestured to the flames. "And what is this nonsense? Do you entertain often?"

The Romanian grinned, flashing a set of ultra-white teeth. "Sometimes, when I am bored. But it adds such a lovely atmosphere, don't you think?" He reached out, passing a finger through it. "I have no fear of fire," he said quietly. "Neither do you, I'm sure. I like watching it dance to and fro, so alive, like a living thing… Yes, I am sentimental, my friend. How is your coven getting along?" He switched abruptly to a business-like tone, seating himself in the chair.

Aro remained standing. His eyes were distant, but now and then he gazed at his friend with affection. Neither of them had changed. Geric smiled up at him, fair strands falling in his face. His hands were delicate, like a woman's, drumming silently against the chair. More than ever, he looked like the young vampire Aro had taken under his wing. Boyish, but with the quiet wisdom of centuries.

"You seem content here," Aro said, breaking the silence at last. "I wonder that you don't choose to establish relations with your own kind."

"You mean my fellow Romanians?" Geric laughed. "Oh, they tolerate me, of course, but I believe they're still smarting over the Dacian incident. The ancients do not forgive easily."

"Still? How childish."

Geric shook his head. "They are proud. They do not realize, as I do, how you were merely trying to establish peace, a sense of order." His eyes shone. "The thought, Aro, that you have held Europe for over a thousand years is in itself proof of your justice. Your understanding of the covens is incredible."

Aro's eyes hardened. "Is it?" He turned away, staring into the flames.

"Of course," his friend consoled. "Why do you doubt your own abilities?"

"It is not my abilities I doubt, nor my strengths," Aro said quietly. "It is _myself,_ Geric. It is my weaknesses, my perversity as a… as a soul."

Never had Geric heard him mention the soul. He rose, standing beside his friend. "You do not believe such things."

A log fell on the fire. Aro didn't answer.

"Is this because of me?" Geric asked. "These thoughts… because of the message I sent?"

_No, _his friend's eyes whispered. _I've suffered for far longer. So long… _He moved a step away, feeling irritated by Geric's concern for him. "Perhaps," he said shortly. He turned then, his face under control. "Speaking of which, you have been very remiss on the topic. Suppose you elaborate?"

"Which topic was that?"

"'_Ea a revenit,'" _Aro whispered. "She has returned. That is why I'm here, Geric. I knew you could only mean one person."

Geric smiled sadly. The phrase was familiar between them, fraught with memories. When Aro had saved Selena from his savaged country, he had sent a rapid note to Geric, using those three words. He meant that she was safe and would return. Now the tables had turned, and Geric was using the same phrase to give his friend unneeded grief.

"Ah, yes," he said softly. "Your sister, Didyme. Sweet, lovely Didyme…"

The air was ragged in Aro's chest. "Is she alive?" he demanded.

The Romanian sighed. "It may come as a shock to you, I'm afraid—"

"Do not patronize me, Geric. Is she alive or not?"

Geric sighed again. He crossed the room, reaching for a long, tasseled object by the door. His fingers curled around it. "Oh, yes," he said. "She is alive, and she is waiting to see you."

He rang the bell.

* * *

***sighs* And once again, I have created a character I LOVE LOVE LOVE, and he probably will only appear once or twice in the story. The second I give a character a name, and begin pondering about them, they are branded in my mind. They begin to have lives of their own, and I'm sometimes quite helpless as the author. :) Even Geric's servants are important to me. **

**But anyway... enough sentimentality. What did you think? Do you think I'm a cruel, little author, leaving you there? Did you like it? And most importantly, are you going to click that little button and tell me so? ^^**


	3. More angel than demon

**"More angel than demon..."**

Geric rang the bell.

The sound echoed through the house, tripping against the walls like some rogue fairy. The fair-haired Romanian looked back, taking in Aro's still face, then opened the door.

"I will return," he said softly. He paused. "Do not frighten her, Aro. You aren't the only one to have suffered."

In ordinary circumstances, Aro would have thought this remark unnecessary. As it was, though, he could hardly think coherently.

When the door closed behind his friend, a hiss escaped Aro's red lips. This had to be a hoax. He was sure of it. There had been vampires in the past—beautiful, vicious things—claiming to be related to the formidable leader, but he had slaughtered them all. Didyme was dead. You could not awaken the dead—no, not even if you _were _immortal.

"_She is alive, and she is waiting to see you." _Waiting? For how long?

Pacing. Rapid breathing. How _dare _Geric play tricks with him? How _dare _he lie?

It was not possible. She was dead.

He could be wrong.

He could be right.

Aro paced the floor, sifting through his thoughts, his memories. He saw it all as it had happened, centuries upon agonizing centuries ago. He and Caius had planned at length, searching for a means to keep Marcus in the Volturi, until the murderous intent was decided. But _had_ he murdered her? Had he destroyed his precious, innocent little sister? Heavens, no! Not with his own hands. He did not rip the stone flesh from her shoulders. Oh, yes, Aro could excuse himself all he wished on _that _account.

_It was the guard, _he remembered, snatching at invisible threads in his mind. Santiago, Chelsea. He had given the order, let them go, and then heard the news with pretended grief. Pure clockwork. He did not watch. He did not commit.

"Dear God," he whispered.

Once again, that terrible issue of the soul; the killing of one who was more angel than demon. He had played the Devil, this one time out of many, and the vengeful serpent had returned, sinking its pitiless teeth in his dead heart.

A whisper brushed against the door. The fragrance of silk, of lilies. Aro lifted his head, his eyes burning feverishly. There was a knock. Twice.

"Enter," he heard himself say.

The door opened.

_She. _The Volturi leader's world disconnected entirely, forming and reforming itself until it stood shining before him, reincarnated in flesh from his pain.

This was no hoax.

This was no lie.

_Didyme. _

She entered the room, hesitantly at first, then stopped when she saw him by the window.

"Aro?" she said timidly.

Her voice was clear, like water on crystal, and his dead heart flinched inside his breast. The reality of that voice was the final thrust.

"Didyme."

Neither of them moved. Despite the age of these vampires, and their supposed lack of strong feeling, every muscle in their bodies was strained; drawn to the breaking point. Neither spoke, for fear of snapping that fragile thread.

Didyme moved suddenly, stepping towards the fireplace. Her face lit up in the light, creating a halo about her long, downy hair. She had cut it, he noticed. It used to hang past her waist, brushing the floor. Now it floated just above her waistline. She wore no ornament, no flowers. Her modern dress was simple, and her deep blue cloak covered anything else.

"Your favorite color," he said, before he could stop himself.

Didyme's head lifted. Her eyes scanned his face, as if searching for something, then she smiled a little. "Yes," she whispered. She looked again at the fire. "You remembered."

There was another long pause. A log fell in the fireplace, sending up a radiant shower of sparks. One of them landed on Didyme's wrist, flickering for a moment. She didn't move.

Aro opened his mouth at the same moment she turned towards him.

"Didyme—"

"Aro, I—"

She smiled, blushing a little. "I'm sorry. Go ahead."

"No," he said quickly. "You were saying?"

"I was just thinking…" She fingered her hair, a familiar gesture. "I was thinking how unchanged you are. One would not think it has been so long."

He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at her hands. They fluttered against the blue fabric like an injured butterfly.

"We are only immortal, sister," he said gently, then paused. "You have not changed either."

An expression he'd never seen came over her face. Her eyes were like gemstones, hard and oblique. "I am not that transparent," she whispered.

"I spoke of first impressions, Didyme. They can be deceiving."

"They can, indeed."

For the third time, Aro longed to reach out, crossing the breach between them, and take her hand. What was she thinking? The flat tone of her voice tormented him. He searched her beautiful face, trying to deduce any signs of resentment or anger, but there was nothing. Nothing except that strange, secret expression clouding her brow.

"You needn't stand on my account," she said suddenly. "Shall we be seated?" Her face had softened, as if she'd read the pain in his.

Aro chose a seat only after she had found hers. They were closer than before, each on one side of the fire, but the tension in the room remained. Didyme lessened it a little, laughing with the musical trill that was natural to her.

"What is it?" her brother asked.

She shook her head. "I think it will be difficult for us to leave here. Geric has grown quite accustomed to me, as have Luc and Sonja." She smiled at him. "You have a true friend in him, Aro. He is a gentleman. _He_ will never betray you."

Was that a rebuke in her voice? He was going mad, inventing answers. "If we leave?" he said curtly. "Forgive me, but you seem to be better informed than I am. Are you accompanying me back to Volterra?"

Didyme's eyes lifted, meeting his. A throbbing pain rose in her brother's throat. Her orbs were clear, shimmering. No haze. His gaze fell to her bare arms, the hurt going still deeper. Not a sign of the papery age that had accompanied him and his brothers through time. She was as fresh, as young as a newborn. A goddess, as always.

She was still looking at him. In an agony of shame, he rose, returning to the window and the shadows away from the fire.

Her voice reached him softly. "Do you want me back, brother?"

"What?" he said harshly, still fighting emotion.

"I said, do you _want_ me?"

_Oh, God, yes, _he thought. It was all he could do not to falter, lifting her from the chair and kissing the masks and buried secrets from her sweet, sweet face.

"I haven't decided," he answered. "The coven—we are so well-established now. I don't want any trouble."

"Is that what I was?" she said calmly. "Trouble?"

How did she do it? She was pricking at every vulnerable part of him, inciting his remorse. "You misunderstand me, sister. Your presence is obviously… a surprise." Let her make what she would of that understatement. "Imagine the effect you would have on _other _members of the coven." He turned, raising his voice slightly. "You know of whom I speak."

She said nothing, and for a terrible, terrible moment, he thought it was over. That she no longer cared.

But she spoke, very softly. "I want to see him." She took a sudden breath, her words rushed. "How is he, Aro? Is he all right?"

"What do you think?"

The words came out harsher than he intended. He saw her slender back tremble, and wished himself in the deepest pits of hell. So many years, and he was still injuring her.

"How bad?" she whispered.

"He is dead to us."

Didyme said nothing. Aro gazed out the star-filled window, waiting for her to collect herself. He had no wish to see that pain—_Marcus' _pain—in his sister's face.

"I know this will mean nothing to you now," he said quietly. "But—"

"Don't," she interrupted quickly. He sensed her stand, her dress rustling like tiny leaves.

"You don't wish me to have any respite, do you?" he said bitterly.

She was gentle. "I did not say that." She sighed. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Yes. I want you." _To hell with it, _he thought. His pride was already damaged. He consoled himself, however, distinguishing the marked differences between _"need" _and _"want." _

He dared a glance at her. She was smiling tenderly at him. "Then we are agreed," she said softly. "Shall I inform Geric?"

"I'm sure he already knows." Aro snapped his gaze away, striding to the silken tassel and pulling it sharply. Sonja appeared within seconds, her pointed face expressionless

"My lord."

Aro nodded at her, increasingly aware of Didyme's searching gaze. Sonja bowed, vanishing immediately. Geric entered the room a second later, his clothing and fair hair streaked faintly with dust.

"My oldest volumes are in the attic," he explained cheerfully, gesturing to his appearance. Aro thought his demeanor amazingly inappropriate for the situation. But Geric did not appear to notice the tension in the room, or at least said nothing. "How are we getting along?" he asked, smiling at the two of them.

Didyme smiled back, ever gracious. "My brother and I were just getting reacquainted."

"I see." Geric glanced at his friend. "I'm assuming it went well?"

"Didyme is returning with me," Aro replied.

The Romanian sighed softly. "Ah, but we shall miss her greatly, I'm afraid. _Everyone _will, even the poorest inhabitants of my little village." He stepped forward, taking Didyme's perfectly modeled hand in his own. "It is incredible, is it not, how _true _goodness overrides even the darkest superstition."

Aro watched him silently. He envied Geric's freedom with his sister, and her familiarity with him. "Are you keeping her after all, Geric, or shall I have to drag her with me?"

The joke was forced, but Geric laughed anyway. "No, no. You are free to go. Unless, of course, you wish to have dinner with me?" He beamed. "I'm inviting some young brides from the city to my home for a modest wedding feast." His teeth gleamed. "It will be an excellent selection."

A faint pallor lightened the snowy complexion of Didyme's face. Aro almost smiled. She hadn't changed in _that _respect, either. "Thank you, Geric," she whispered. "But we shall take our leave now."

Geric kissed her fingers, ignoring Aro's venomous glances. _"Noroc cu tine," _he said sweetly. "May good fortune light you through your days, my dearest Didyme."

"Come," said Aro abruptly. He came forward, holding out a hand to his sister.

Didyme looked at him, ruby meeting milky crimson. He saw her hesitation, and his expression faltered, though his hand did not move. She smiled, though more painfully than tender this time.

"No, Aro," she whispered.

She turned and reached for Geric, who offered his arm with an apologetic glance at his friend, and the two of them glided gracefully from the room. Aro followed in their wake, feeling as if someone had ignited his heart, and then silenced it just as suddenly.

* * *

The trip back to Volterra seemed far longer than the coming journey. Had Aro been in a less thoughtful mood, he would have laughed at the expression on his guard's faces when Didyme exited Geric's house. They were watching her even now; he could tell without looking. Aro had asked Demetri to sit beside her, taking the spot beside Felix for himself. He was still stung over his sister's refusal to touch him. It was not so much the gesture that frustrated him; how was he to know her thoughts otherwise? Didyme was no fool. He felt like a spoiled child, surrounded by everything he or she desired, but who is suddenly denied what they long for most.

"Would you like a drink, milady?" he heard Demetri ask softly. He dared a backward glance. Didyme pushed the pint of blood away gently, shaking her head. Demetri started a little when her hand brushed his fingers, as if electricity had sparked him. Aro chuckled, turning back to look out the window.

Felix was fidgeting beside him. "You did not tell us you had a sister, my lord," he said finally.

"Must I share _all_ my secrets with you, Felix?"

The huge vampire fell silent. Another hour passed, and they were landing in Volterra. The four vampires glided off the plane with their customary swiftness, not wanting to draw any stares. The sun blazed down heavily, hastening their movements. Demetri disappeared, returning in a few minutes with a sleek, black Mercedes. He glided over to Didyme's side, visibly eager to do her a service, but his master stopped him.

"Demetri, you will drive. Felix, sit opposite him. We'll be in the back."

The guard obeyed, trying not to stare as the vision of loveliness stepped through the passenger door. The car screeched away from the pavement, narrowly avoiding a startled gentleman on the sidewalk. Aro sighed, grateful for the tinted windows. Didyme was silent beside him.

"Italy is much changed," she said suddenly.

He turned, eager at the opportunity to speak. "No more than other cities, sister," he said. "Have you not visited our native land recently?"

She avoided the prying nature of his question. "The heat is the same, though."

"Yes, isn't it?" he agreed.

He looked away. He was stifling inside. There they were, chatting about the weather, when thousands of tiny, broken shards lay between them. His fingers dug into the expensive leather of the seat, tearing a hole through it accidentally.

Didyme glanced over. Her own hand twitched on her lap, but she said nothing.

That was how it remained, until they reached Volterra.

Didyme opened the door of the car herself, giving Demetri a sweet smile when his face faltered in disappointment. Aro again fought the urge to smile, watching his guard jostle each other in a contest to open the _Palazzo _doors for her. Cool darkness soon surrounded them, only interrupted now and then by the silent blaze of torchlight.

"Is this how you live?" Didyme asked softly.

Aro was defensive. "It is private."

She looked again at the long, achingly empty hallway, then turned her head away, resuming walking. Aro didn't need to touch her hand to know where her thoughts were. The soft, pained respirations he heard were answer enough.

"Demetri, light the way for your Mistress," he snapped, the dots of golden torches fading quickly behind them, replaced by the occasional brazier of greenish-yellow flame. Vampires did not _need _light to see in darkness, of course, but it was the homage of the gesture that counted, and Demetri was more than willing to perform it for her. He walked carefully before his new mistress, holding one of the previous torches between clammy fingers. Only once did he dare to gaze back at the striking woman, but his eyes met Aro's stony gaze before slipping quickly away.

"You like the artwork?" the ancient inquired of his sister. He had an urge to give Demetri a swift backhand to the head, knocking him out of his fantasy.

Didyme turned her head. She took a slow breath before replying. "I… it is very fine, brother. You always had wonderful taste."

Her words were empty, their life already given up to deeper thought. Aro frowned, but said nothing more. The darkness had cleared, finally, the endless hallway opening up into a spacious, magnificent atrium of sorts. Didyme had said little during their brief journey, but her eyes widened a little at the extravagance of the chandelier, hanging in lavish glory from the ceiling. Angels and plump cherubs swarmed about its base, gazing in delight at the bulbous crystals shimmering below them. Pretty light from the crystals scattered across perfect, unmarred skin.

Aro could see the awe in his sister's eyes. He waited for her to speak—almost felt he would go mad if she didn't—but not a sound escaped her lips. She turned her gaze from the finery, her soft slippers making _shh_ noises on the marble floor.

Aro distanced himself slightly, falling behind the party. _Say something, _he pled silently. He could feel anger rising within him, colliding painfully with the hurt. She was doing this on purpose. He _knew _that she was.

They were making their way quite smoothly through the atrium when a large shadow fell in their path, blocking their way completely.

It was Marcus.

* * *

***waves white flag* Don't kill me! Just review! xD**


	4. Rest your weary heart

"**Rest your weary heart…" **

There was dead silence in the atrium. It was broken after a moment by hurried footsteps. Chelsea appeared, sandy locks dangling over her eyes, her pale face an ashy white. She hovered over to the side of her master, glancing nervously from his stricken face to Aro's. "My lord, I—I am sorry. I tried to—"

"_Chelsei,"_ her master interrupted. It was a very old name. Not the one she was known by. His intonation of the word brought back to her memories of different countries, different tongues. Salty-sweet memories, with seashells ripening in Grecian waters.

His voice shook, but it rang with authority. She drew back, and the shadows swallowed her.

Another voice spoke then, shaking just as much as his.

"_Amata…" _Didyme breathed. _Beloved._

Marcus looked as if he were about to fall. Didyme's hands stretched out, her voice cracking painfully. "My love?"

Their hands met; or rather, her hands embraced his, pulling his stricken body closer. The imposing vampire crumpled, losing several feet in height as he melted into his wife's body, his head falling gently against her shoulder. A soft, yet heart-wrenching sound filled the atrium.

"Don't cry, my love," she whispered into his hair. "Please, please don't cry—"

"Didyme," he rasped.

"I'm here, my love, my dearest. I'm here."

"Didyme…"

Aro watched them silently, saying nothing. His face seemed to be closing up on itself. Demetri gave him a respectful, yet fleeting glance.

Aro cleared his throat. An unnecessary action. "Demetri…"

The curly-haired vampire sidled closer. "Yes, Master?"  
"The chambers… in the left wing. Tidy them up for your mistress."

"The left wing?" Demetri hesitated, trying to be polite, discreet, and questioning all at once. "They are not suitable."

"Then I suggest you make them so. Need I repeat myself?"

"No, Master. It shall be done. At once." Demetri bowed, exiting the atrium's doors in a confused whirl of thought. He thanked the heavens for this task. One more second, and the Master would _surely _have asked for his hand, divining his most recent thoughts of Mistress Didyme.

_God's blood, but can I help it? _he thought desperately. He found two lesser coven members, and the three of them quickly set about restoring the chambers so dear to their third master's heart.

* * *

Aro stood for a long time in the atrium. He never moved, even when the light from above faded, changing the shades in his hair from burnt umber to deepest black. The door creaked gently behind him, but he paid no mind. The nervous coven member flitted about the room, lighting its candles before leaving just as quickly, her hair a bright whiplash in the darkness.

Aro then did something quite unconventional.

He sat down, in the center of the floor, where the red and white marble met in a star-shaped design. It was not meant to be shaped thus. The bloody fool aiding them with its structure had miscalculated his measurements, leading to a desperate design to make all the pieces come together smoothly. Which led to his unfortunate demise.

It was very beautiful, though. Genuine stars twinkled in the glass of ceiling, trying to send more of their pure light through. But only candlelight prevailed, and Aro could care less about the beauty of the atrium. It could all burn up… and him with it.

He ran rough fingers through his hair. His eyes, devoid of crimson, barely reflected the candlelight.

Such a fool. _Such a bloody, damn, _thoughtless, _old fool. _

Why hadn't he conceived this, her return? Thought of it, even? Where was his precious control now; his knowledge of what to do and when?

_Why in _heaven's_ name has she returned to me?! _

He looked up suddenly, startled to see a figure standing in the doorway. The scent of flowers reached his nostrils. He panicked for a moment, shifting as if to rise to his feet, when he took another moment to inhale the faint scent. It was not her.

"Darling," he breathed. "What are you doing here?"

He could feel her smile, even without looking. "My dearest Aro. Surely I am the one to be asking you that?"

"Don't talk back to me." His tone was more jesting than firm. He felt weakened, suddenly, feeling his long years. "Why have you left your chambers?"

"Corin is not far," she hummed. Her delicate hands fluttered. "And my duty lies with the one before me, not languishing on a pile of velvet cushions."

The tension pulled a little tighter, until finally he broke. "Come to me."

She came, nestling into him like a sleek, expensive cat.

"Talk to me," she whispered.

"There is nothing to tell."

"You are a bad liar, my dark one."

"On the contrary, I am an excellent liar."

"Not to me. You can hide _nothing _from me."

"Sulpicia…"

His groan was very soft, but she heard it easily. Her hands smoothed a familiar path down his cheek, lingering on his jaw. "_Boreíte na mou peíte…" _

"_Óchi," _he breathed, reverting to her favorite tongue. He lowered his head briefly to embrace her mouth._"Giatí écho kánei polý kakó." ("No, I have done much evil.")_

"_Kardiá mou. _My heart." She kissed the shadow beneath his left earlobe. "We are evil by nature. You have always known this. What's done is done."

"The past is repeating itself," he said. "She has come back."

"Who, my heart?"

He told her, not knowing what to expect.

She exhibited no shock, merely quiet surprise. Somehow, this had the effect of calming him. He let her run her fingers through his hair, with much more gentleness than he had done previously. She let the silence soothe him before speaking.

"'The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.'"

"Socrates," he murmured.

She laughed softly. "This is not a guessing game, darling. Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes… You are saying I cannot know what the future holds."

"I am also saying that you should be patient. Rest your weary heart, and wait awhile."

He looked up from where his head leaned on her shoulder. "Love…"

"Yes?"

"I am sorry I failed you."

Her beautiful eyes faltered. "You have failed me? How?"

"By depriving you of a sister—"

She waved his words aside. "No, Aro. I refuse to think of it that way."

"I despise myself…" he said softly.

He toyed with a bit of lace on her dress. It reminded her of days gone by, when she imagined tinier hands doing the same. She spoke again, and her voice was even gentler. "Aro, these are unkind thoughts. They do you an injustice."

She paused, listening to the sound of his tears gathering. Bleeding her dead heart dry.

"It tortures me," he said. "It tortures me, 'Picia."

She took a deep breath. "Find a way to make it right. Then you will find relief."

"How?"

She smiled, and it was the smile he had fallen in love with.

"Find a way to make it right," she whispered, dropping her dark head to rest against his.

* * *

**I am so sorry for the delay, my dears. Blame it on stress and crippling writer's block. But I have a strong urge to write again, and have come up with quite a few ideas. Please review! It means the world to me. :) **

**Petals**


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